Awakening
by fantasylover53
Summary: Charles Xavier can't believe the news, a tragic car accident, claiming the lives of dear friends and his student. However, when James Howlett returns to Xavier's wild and feral, instead of shy and sick, Charles - and the rest of the school - is left to confront a much more terrifying suspicion - that maybe the car accident... wasn't an accident. RoLo Ensemble cast - AU
1. Prologue

This idea came to me - well actually it's been with me a while now, I just haven't been stuffed writing it. Anyway, it came to me after a culmination of watching a car crash show, the idea of a young Logan, reading too many feral stories, and just my plain imagination. A warning for all those who read this - don't expect updates on my stories for a while, cos I got my final year of school coming up this year and I board. Sorry about the lack of updates on Prince of Wolves and Family Ties ( if anyone has remembered they still exist). Am rebooting Prince of Wolves, and I will be rewriting it some time because on a reread, there were so many forgotten pieces of info and loose ends there was no way of tying up.

In this story, some backgrounds may differ, as I haven't read the origins comics and the local newsagents is taking their time delivering it. In this, Elisabeth Howlett is French-Canadian just cos I can make her so.

Anyway, I don't own these characters, if I did, well, I wouldn't need a Super Hero Squad Wolverine plushie to keep me company at night. This is for fun, not profit and all characters belong to Marvel, as well as anything you recognise. The plot, well, I guess that can't belong to me either, being an idea... Hey, didn't know I remembered that from school!... but I'll just say it does.

Logan/Ororo story coming right up, featuring an ensemble cast from everyone's favourite Avengers and X-Men.

Enjoy and review, and I have a fire extinguisher, (and cookies), so constructive criticism only.

"WE'RE ON A HIIIIIGH-WAAAY TO HELL! WE'RE ON A HIIIIIIGH-WAAAY TO HELL! DUU DUM DUM – Hey! Turn it back on! Dad!"

"No, Junior. Your brother's trying to sleep."

A scowl settling on his handsome face, John Howlett Jnr cast a dark look at the quiet lump seated next to him in the back seat of the expensive Mercades. "No he's not."

A sigh echoed from the front, and a moment later, Elisabeth Howlett, John's second wife and John Jnr's step mother, looked round, eyeing her step-son before peering at her own natural son. "James?"  
The lump under the blanket didn't stir. With a slightly exasperated sigh, Elisabeth reached round and tapped the knee she could see. "James? Mon petit?"

The blanket stirred and a few folds shifted enough for both Junior and Elisabeth to see a dull hazel eye staring at her. "...Maman."  
Elisabeth looked concerned as she rested her hand on her son's knee, her own hazel eyes narrowing. "Mon petit, are you okay?"  
"'M fine."

A small huff fell from Elisabeth's lips, before she pulled back to sit straight and look at her husband. "John," she murmured quietly, "perhaps this isn't the best time for a family holiday." She cast a worried look back at the now unmoving lump that was her son. "He's ill again."

John Howlett gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as he inhaled deeply, before letting his body relax. "'Beth, we'll stop as soon as we can and get some medicine down him. It's the best I can do right now."  
Elisabeth's eyes narrowed in momentary anger before she pursed her lips and nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, John took a moment to admire his wife in the waning light of the afternoon sun they were driving into.

Elisabeth's dark hair was pulled into an elegant chignon, her tanned skin dusting gold in the light that shone on her through the window. Striking hazel eyes, so like her son's, were reflected in the passengers window by the sun, mottled only slightly from a distant glimmer of another car behind them and momentarily John forgot to breathe as he met them before yanking himself back to the task of driving.

He never regretted marrying Elisabeth. _Couldn't_ regret it. The death of his beloved first wife and Junior's mother, Lindsay, had struck him and his son hard, and for many years the ancestral mansion they lived in had been silent with ghosts of his wife.

Then along came Elisabeth.

He met her when she came looking for work, having recently moved into Alberta looking for a fresh start to life. She was French-Canadian, and assured him that her great-great grandparents had been Italian, which justified her dark as night hair. He'd asked her to go out with him almost immediately, and to his great surprise she accepted. Six months and many dates later, he proposed.

In answer, she took him home.

And at home, laying bundled up in bed, was her six year old son James. Little James, with eyes and hair so like his mothers, but with a look to him that led John to believe he would be tall and well built in the future.

Little James, who was near terminally ill.

He fell for both of them then, and swore to love James as his own.

Now James had just turned fourteen and Junior was seventeen, and Elisabeth his wife, and they were going off to the Vancouver National Airport to fly to England, then Rome, then Japan for a three month family holiday with no one but them. James had been excused from Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters for three months with no work to complete and Elisabeth from her job.

It was going to be perfect. Just he and his family.

It was his last thought before his eyes widened at the sight of the SUV slamming into the driver's door of his car and then he knew no more.

The ambulance careened to a sudden halt past the beacons which signalled their arrival at their destination. Pushing open the door, the husband and wife medic team, Heather and James Hudson, got out of the van.

"What are the injuries?" Heather heard her husband call out as he approached the man in charge of the crash site, as she reached in for the first aid kit.

Her blood chilled and her hand froze when she heard the reply. "You're too late." The voice was sorrowful and full of choked pain. "Husband's gone, as is the eldest boy, the woman is critical, can't move her. Think she's got spinal injuries."

Taking a deep breath to still her trembling hands, Heather picked up the kit and moved round the back, picking her way over shattered glass and twisted metal, her eyes wide as she took in the scene of destruction which greeted her.

The once pristine, expensive Mercades was a wreck. The driver's side of the vehicle was nothing but twisted metal, and on the remnants of the glass window, she could see splatters of blood. The man's body was slumped sideways, a dark shape amongst the ruins of the car. The woman was still in her seat, her eyes closed and skin pale. Blood stained her once white blouse, and as Heather approached, she saw a piece of jagged metal cutting into her side.

She stopped, and inhaled. It was too late but to be a comfort for her in her final moments.

Heather opened her eyes to find herself kneeling among the glass, one hand holding the woman's, trying to get a response.

After a few minutes of trying, the woman's eyes opened, and hazel eyes dark with pain focused on her, strangely clear and knowing. Heather schooled her face into a calming smile. "Hey," she greeted, squeezing the hand she held gently, "I'm Heather."

The woman closed her eyes, and after a long moment opened them again to stare at her. "J-James..." she gasped out, words mangled beyond belief but legible. "J-James... mon petit... mon chere..." She coughed, her already pale skin paling beyond Heather thought was possible. "... t-the back... J-James... Je t'aime..."

Heather swallowed. "Y-Your son?"  
The woman nodded, her movements slowing as did her pulse beneath Heather's fingertips.

"H-He's..."  
Her patient shook her head, then clumsily dragged Heather's fingers to point to the relatively undamaged passengers seat behind her. "J-James," she mangled out again, "Help hi-im." The hand grew limp and her eyes misted over. "Je t'aime James..."

Her pulse stopped.

Heather found herself crying, as she gently disengaged her hand, barely noticing the efforts to free the bodies from the other side of the car or her husband's cry of horror as the tangled mess opposite her was torn free.

Getting to her feet, Heather gritted her teeth and waved one of the fire crew over to help her. The man looked at her helplessly, going for the woman before she corrected him. "No..." she muttered. "There's another boy in the back. Need you to remove the door."  
Understanding blossomed, and Heather stood back to watch the jaws of life remove the crinkled metal of the back passenger door.

There was a lump on the seat, covered by a blanket stained with deep black blood.

Taking a breath, Heather donned a fresh pair of gloves, kneeling down in shattered glass, and gently tugged the tattered blanket away, revealing a small, curled up figure on the remains of the seat.

Swallowing, she reached out a hand to brush the boy's shoulder, squeezing to try and get a reaction. Receiving a low, pained moan as a reply, she inhaled dazedly as it clicked that the boy – James – was alive.

"James!"

Her husband came running over, freezing when he saw the boy and her face.

"He's alive. Get the stretcher."

He nodded, and raced off as Heather turned back to her charge – only to freeze in shock.

Beneath coal black bangs of long dark hair matted with blood, feral golden eyes stared at her in fear and anger. Lowering her hand, she was rewarded with a gleam of sharp fangs and a low, long whine.

_Mutant. He's a mutant._

Inhaling, she reached out a hand, slowly and gently placing it on the boy's tin shoulder again. "We're going to help you."

The boy sniffed, before the tense muscles underneath her hand relaxed, and he whined again, a whine full of pain.

Her husband returned with the stretcher then, dropping down beside her to stare at the golden eyes and the long white fangs. "Mutant?" he asked, voice pitched low and quiet.

She nodded. "I think it just activated." She looked at her husband, green eyes pleading. "We can't let them know." She gestured towards the ambulance. "We'll get him on the stretcher and then to the hospital."

He nodded, and she turned back to the boy. Holding out a hand, she started in surprise at the fact that the boy – James – was almost right in front of her, his pale, blood streaked face a mask of confusion.

The boy whined, cocking his head to the right, looking towards the still form of his mother, a shadow behind the seat, as if he was wondering why she hadn't stirred.

Heather could only shake her head.

He showed no signs of understanding, and she choked back tears before holding out her arms, inviting him nearer, her fingertips curling round his shoulders as she eased him out of the seat.

A low, keening whine broke from his throat as she curled her arms around him, fingers exploring gently to find a piece of metal and some leftover shrapnel from the crash embedded in his back. At her touch, he keened again, and shifted, one hand reaching out towards his mother.

Inhaling, she held him a little tighter as she got to her feet, his hand still reaching for what he could never have again. "James," she murmured, not sure who she was talking to, "James."

"Yes?" her husband answered, even as the boy in her arms turned his head at the name, golden eyes surveying her in confusion, almost as if he was wondering why she was holding him instead of his mother and calling him that.

Shaking herself, she dismissed the stretcher, instead letting her husband pack it away as she walked the boy towards the ambulance.


	2. 1 News

Awakening – 1

TWO WEEKS LATER

Professor Charles Xavier considered it horrific, through the numbness of shock, that he hadn't heard of their deaths first hand, but rather had to rely on the announcement from the breaking news the evening after.

Now, seated at his desk, forever seated, he notes with a distant sense of loss outweighed by the shock of his dear friends death, he stared at the newspaper spread out below him.

The three page article reported the death of John Howlett Jnr, his wife Elisabeth and his two children John and James. It was both a memorial and a tribute, a report and an account. The accompanying picture of the family, smiling and laughing, had been taken at his school's gates the year before. The picture of the wreck of the car that had been John's second pride of joy, other than his family, was two days old.

Staring blindly, he looked up at the sound of the door opening, and noted through an almost hazy vision the blue furred man that stood in the path of the door. "Hank," he heard himself say distantly.

"Charles," Dr. Henry McCoy, otherwise known as the Beast, an affectionate nickname from the students, stepped inside and cleared his throat, his voice hoarse, "may I... have a word?"

Numbly, Charles nodded, reaching for a his now cold cup of tea and taking a sip. "Of course Henry."

The Beast lowered himself into a chair opposite the Professor, his feral grace even evident through grief. His blue gaze fell to the newspaper, and his mouth thinned into a snarl of hatred. After a long moment, he spoke, his voice tainted with an animals growl. "If I ever find the coward who ran from the deaths he cause I'll skin him alive." His shoulders vibrated. "J-James, he... they, they didn't deserve that."

"I know Henry." Charles's voice was steel. "And believe me when I say that you won't be the only one out for revenge." His voice faltered. "H-How are the students taking it?"

Hank sighed and closed his eyes. "They are grieving."

Nodding jerkily, Charles inhaled deeply. "I couldn't expect less."

Hank slumped in his chair, gaze drifting to the photo of a happy family that until two weeks ago was heading off for a much needed break. "It's – It's just hard to believe they're gone."

Charles closed his eyes, nodding, before clearing his throat and placing the cold cup of tea he had been cradling onto the desk. "We should go. The memorial... Hank?"  
Hank had frozen, his gaze on the window past Charles's shoulder. Turning, Charles saw what he saw.

An army green Jeep had pulled up on the verge, the rear half visible even at the distance his office was away. Pausing, Charles shared a look with Hank, who swallowed, nodding. "Memorial guests," he said softly, sorrow and determination flickering over his face, "we should greet them."

* * *

The Jeep turned out to have wheels encrusted with mud, dirt and sand, with Canadian plates, and it was no one Hank or Charles had met who stepped out of the car to greet them when they moved in.

The man was tall, well built, with dark hair and brown eyes, eyes that were dark with exhaustion and some nameless emotion. "Charles Xavier?" he asked, his deep voice sounding as exhausted as he looked.

Blinking, Charles nodded. "Yes, and... you are?"

The man's shoulders sagged, in relief, Charles suspected. "James Hudson. I was one of the medics on hand up at the..." Both he and Charles simultaneously swallowed, "...the crash."

Picking his words with caution, Charles inhaled. "Are you here for the memorial then?"

Hudson jumped. "M-Memorial?" He rubbed the back of his neck, voice catching on the word. "I... no... we're – that's me and my wife, Heather, we're here because..." He trailed off, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "The boy... in the crash... we found him."

Hank bowed his head, and an uncomfortable silence fell before Charles broke it. "I... see."

His eyes wide, Hudson stared at him. "No, no, you don't get it... God... um, Heather?" He turned away, approaching the Jeep, walking to the back, his voice reaching them from afar. "Heather, give him here..."

Charles's heart caught in his throat, and Hank's hand – complete with image inducer – slapped onto his shoulder and his nails dug in, a hiss resounding through his friends throat. "Henry?" he questioned, looking up, only to see Hank's narrowed golden eyes.

He turned his attention back to Hudson, who was now walking towards them, carrying -

Stunned into silence, he stared at the familiar boy Hudson held.

The boy in Hudson's arms twisted and hissed, teeth flashing as he continually struggled against an iron grip, one hand coming up to grip Hudson's shoulder, as his head turned in Charles's direction, sharp teeth snapping at Hudson's hand.

A red headed woman walked up besides Hudson, evidently Heather, his wife, and her hand rested on the boy's head of ruffled dark hair.

Hudson stopped in front of them, and with some conferring with his wife, lowered the boy to the ground, one hand tight around a slim wrist. Almost as soon as the boy's feet touched the ground, Hudson's grip tightened and yanked backwards, causing the boy – who had immediately tensed as if ready to flee – to crash into the pavement, landing on against Heather's legs, teeth bared.

And then, the boy looked into his eyes, and Charles Xavier looked into the wild, golden, _feral_ eyes of James Logan Howlett.

* * *

Well, Chapter 1.

Would have gone for a longer introduction but couldn't think of how to word it. Am making it up as I go along anyway. So, watcha think? Review and receive an automatic batch of freshly baked cookies!


	3. 2 In Memoriam

Awakening Chapter 2

The hall of Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters, with all it's occupants, was draped in black. Black curtains, black dresses and suits, black shoes. A camera following the long walkway between the masses of chairs either side of the central space would have seen the same sight each row – each person with their heads bowed, dressed in black.

Though not all were mourning the loss of someone precious.

Her azure eyes bright with unshed tears, Ororo Munroe glared ferociously at the back of the head in front of her, a head which was currently shaking with laughter along with the two on either side. Clenching her hands in her lap, Ororo inhaled sharply as a muffled giggle resounded from the front, her fingers forming fists that she imagined pounding into the owner of the giggle, and the man who stole her best friend from her, and the pilot of the crash that took her parents away and -

"'Ro," a soft voice echoed from her right, dark with pain and warning, a hand moving over and gripping one fist tightly, "stop."  
Ducking her head to the right, Ororo let her eyes rest on the black clad form of her best friend, Jean Grey. "But they're laughing," she hissed angrily, venomously, "J- He's – They're _d-dead_ and they're _laughing_."

Jean's green eyes narrowed in anger as she looked at the culprits too, and a strand of red hair fell into her face as she took a deep breath. "And when someone they loved is dead, we can laugh."

Ororo choked on her indignation, recognising the flare of the Pheonix in Jean's eyes. "Jean..."

Green eyes without any trace of flame snapped to her, and Jean blinked slowly. "I- Ororo?"  
Ororo knew she looked a sight. She knew she was pale, and shaking, and that for two weeks her eyes had been permanently glowing with a hint of white eerie light and that the weather could go from sunshine to hail within two seconds.

She knew, and she didn't care.

Taking a deep breath, she looked away from Jean's searching gaze and cast her eyes around the sombre hall, cloaked as it was in gloom. As she looked, she noticed some who, though they wore the black of mourning, were talking, whispering amongst themselves, not caring that the faces if a destroyed family looked out at them from the far wall, forever caught in laughter.

Feeling a sob rise in her throat, she choked it down, closing her eyes.

_He's still here, he's not dead._

_He can't be dead._

_This isn't real, this isn't happening, THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING!_

A warmth touched hers, and Ororo let out a gasp as she imagined James Howlett, her best friend, sitting next to her, hand clutching hers with that familiar warmth and smile on his face, his hazel eyes laughing at her as if the past two weeks had merely been an elaborate prank like he, Kurt and Remy were always pulling on Scott.

She opened them to find thin air.

The warmth in her hand faded away, and she let a sob rise in her throat as she stood, feeling gazes drawn to her solitary, pale figure as she rushed out of the room, unable to face the harsh, cold reality that her life had become.

The laughing eyes of James Howlett, trapped on film in the family photograph above a simple wreath of remembrance followed her out the door.


	4. 3 - Memories and Musings

Awakening Chapter 3

Dr. Henry McCoy, Ambassador of Mutant Affairs, science, maths and biology teacher, seasoned traveller, doctor and peruser of classical poetry and art, was not among the ranks of men that considered themselves easily stunned.

But the sight of calm, placid, mischievous James Howlett's feral golden eyes sizing him up with the rage and calculation of a wild hunter through the thick glass of the infirmary observation room left him speechless and just a little afraid.

Logically, he knew that being afraid of a slip of a fourteen year old boy was illogical and stupid , but the more primal part of his nature was screaming at him to show the pup his place, that the newborn feral nature in the pup was a threat to the pack if he was not shown where he belonged.

He knew that it was illogical, and that he shouldn't be afraid, but as he watched a young predator's eyes slide languidly closed and open again with such a vibrant golden glow to them that spoke of _knowing_ through the glass... he was.

Swallowing, he tore his eyes away, turning to face James Hudson, who was sitting on Hank's chair nursing a cup of coffee, facing Charles Xavier. Out of the corner of his eye he noted James return his attention to Heather, Hudson's wife as she tried to coax him to eat.

Hudson took a sip of the coffee, before raising his eyes to look at his audience. "So..." he began, "how do you know the boy? I-I mean James, not that he's -"  
"Mr Hudson," Xavier interrupted, a small smile twisting his lips, "we are well aware of what you mean." The smile disappeared from his lips after a moment, and his eyes grew dark with loss. "James' parents – John and Elisabeth were dear friends. John had long supplied the school with funding when it was needed, or when it wasn't." A wry smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. "James himself is a student here, as is... was, his brother, John."  
Hudson swallowed another gulp of coffee. "Oh."  
Hank watched the interaction with disguised impatience, waiting for Hudson to elaborate. When he didn't continue, his patience snapped. "Well?" he asked brusquely, before shame graced his mind as he saw Hudson's surprise and Xavier's look. He sighed. "Forgive me, but for the last two weeks we have believed James dead. I am merely... I... what I am trying to say is I think you ought to tell us – that we are owed – an explanation of how you found James."

Hudson stared at him, stunned, before he nodded, jerkily swallowing another sip of coffee as Hank looked on at the shaking hand which held the cup. "Y-Yes, I... I guess you are." He gave a wry smile, before resting his elbows on his knees, abandoning the cup on Hank's desk. "We – I mean, Heather and I, we were called out to the crash site. We're medics, volunteer medics, and we – we got there about four hours after the crash itself. At least, they said it was at least four hours. Anyway," he cleared his throat, "when we got out, it – it was a wreck. I asked about the survivors and got to work on assessing damage. There wasn't anywhere that _wasn't_ damaged. Heather was with the woman – you said her name was Elisabeth, but she – she was..."

Xavier bowed his head, and Hank inhaled sharply.

"And E-Elisabeth told her about the boy in the seat, her son. We both thought she meant the older boy, but she meant James there. We we cut the car door loose, the first thing we saw was... was his eyes. Golden, like they are now, and wild. It – it was heartbreaking, he kept trying to reach for his mother..."

Hudson took a deep breath.

"Anyway, we got him into the ambulance..."

TWO WEEKS AGO

The boy in Heather's arms was making a mewling noise, struggling even as the ambulance pulled away to get back to his mother.

James Hudson didn't even think he knew she was gone.

As he turned the wheel sharply around a steep corner, he heard Heather's voice echo from the back of the ambulance. "James, we can't take him to a hospital."

Hudson inhaled, the stress of the situation making his tone sharp when he replied. "Then where are we supposed to take him, Heather?! Home?"

His wife's angry retort silenced his raging thoughts a moment later. "I – we have to! You know how hospitals feel about mutants and – " her voice became softer, more maternal as James heard a heart wrenching whine, " - I know sweetie, I know... - James!"  
Hudson took another corner at speed, and let silence drift across him for a moment as he listened to his wife's soft words.

"...you're going to be okay, alright? Shh, just, just calm down, that's it... James?"  
"Heather?"  
"Turn the sirens off – I think he's, god, I think they're hurting him -"  
"Hurting him?!"  
"His ears are bleeding, look, just, turn them off, okay?"  
Slowly, Hudson did as he was told, flicking the sirens off and slowing the ambulance at the same time. Sudden silence, broken only by his wife's soft whispers and small whines from the back, fell.

Hudson gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, before he blinked slowly, taking a deep breath. "Okay, right, we'll... We'll take him home. Find out where he comes from. Someone who can help."  
Heather's voice flowed over him a moment later. "Sounds like a plan." Her voice was soft, but with a flinty undercurrent that made him pause.

"Y-You don't want to _keep him_, do you?"

"He isn't a pet dog, James!"  
"I wasn't referring to -"

Heather's angry voice he heard close to his ear, her breath hissing over his neck. "And you wonder why you have the nickname Vindicator. He is not a _dog_, James Hudson, he is _a boy_! A boy who has just lost his family!"  
"I wasn't implying he was a dog!"

"Then what were you implying?!" Heather shrieked in his ear, before her words were followed by a pained yelp from their passenger. Heather's voice immediately became soft, apologetic. "I'm sorry sweetie, I'm sorry. Shh... see, it's alright now..."  
The sound of ripping paper ended their conversation, and they didn't talk for the rest of the long ride home.

NOW

"... we got him home eventually, and he's been with us ever since. Won't leave Heather alone, come to think of it."

Hudson stopped, taking a sip of now cold coffee and pulling a face before swallowing anyway. "And, well, I made a call to the hospital and police a few days ago, you know, asking after the crash, and they gave us the information – you see, we have to enter it in our books, at least, that's the excuse I used, and so I got the name of your school and well, here we are."  
Finishing his tale, Hudson leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples.

"Has James shown any sign of...humanity?" Hank asked carefully, mulling over the symptoms and behaviour Hudson had just described.

The man in question shook his head. "None. Won't talk, can barely get him to sleep on his own, wakes up screaming from nightmares even when he isn't alone. It was a nightmare just trying to get him to eat cooked food and to stop him eating raw squirrel!"  
Hank frowned. "Completely feral state... any injuries?"  
Now in his element, Hudson relaxed a little, shaking his head, before he frowned. "None... whatsoever. ...Unless you count the continual haemorrhaging in his ears from loud noises as an injury. He's sensitive to touch too – you know, he winces if you grip him too hard. Things like that... but I can't recall seeing any bruising lately."

Hank lapsed into silent contemplation and Xavier took over. "Thank you, Mr Hudson. But I think that, right now, you need some sleep, as does your wife."  
Hudson gave a sad smile. "The kid won't sleep without her."

Hank spoke up, looking at Xavier. "Charles, it's a typical trauma and shock symptom. Heather equals comfort right now, and I personally don't want to have to forcibly take James from her..."

Charles ran a hand over his face. "Or damage any potential trust we may have with him... do you think you could sleep some sedative into his food?"

Hank considered it for a moment, before he nodded slowly. "It's worth a try, but I have my suspicions about his mutation... I'll prepare it anyway."  
Charles nodded, before looking back at Hudson. "My friend, I think it's high time you got some sleep yourself. I'll have a room prepared."

Hudson nodded his thanks, before standing and casting a curious glance at Xavier. "Just a question, how are you going to get him to sleep exactly?"

Charles blinked, weighing his options. "Well, if the sedative doesn't work, then I will... have to persuade him to."

"'Persuade'?"

Charles' lips formed a slight frown, before he cleared his throat. "I am a mutant too, Mr Hudson, a telepath. I can read your mind." At Hudson's blanch, a chuckle left his throat. "But only if I wish. You have my word I have not tampered or read yours or your wife's mind."  
Hudson, still pale, nodded. "I-I believe you. I think."

"And as for James I will, so to speak, go searching for him, and bring him calm so that he may sleep. There are technicalities I will not bore you with, Mr Hudson, but basically, I will help him sleep."

"Put him down?"  
"More like... 'turn him off,' if you are going to use such a phrase."  
"Ah..." Hudson's gaze was drawn to the window, beyond which both men could see Heather with her arms wrapped around a feral James, rocking him slightly. The boy's nose was buried in her neck, and he was curled up on her lap. "What about Heather?"  
"I have already informed your wife of the plan," Charles smiled, tapping his head, "and she has asked him to tell you that she will join you when she can."  
"Right... I..."

"I'll show you to your room shall I?"  
Silence fell on the lab again, and still Heather held the boy in her arms close and hummed a lullaby.

Sorry for any delay, and sorry for any future delay, but I've only got one week left at home, so there will be long gaps between updates. Ill try to update when I can though.

:) Please review!


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